Classic Poem

I.

Snar'd, in entangling mazes of thy charms,
Teach me to shake these silky chains away;
Slow, thy sweet force, my stubborn mind disarms,
'Till ev'n ambition bends, beneath thy sway,

II.

What shall I do, to free my struggling soul,
Bow'd, to the soft'ning biass of thy song?
As circling straws , in whirlwinds, driving roll,
So are my hurry'd passions swept along.

III.

Fool , as I was! — I felt thy distant fire ,
E're, from those eyes , it flash'd undying flame;
Yet, sure, said I — for once — I may aspire,
And view that heav'n , whence all this brightness came.

IV.

So, the light cork , that on the Thame's smooth side,
Embay'd, glides buoyant , and just skims the shore,
Edges, ambitious, to the rapid tide,
And, rushing down the stream, returns no more.

V.

Late, my free thoughts , unbounded, as the air ,
Could, with an eye-beam's swiftness, scale the sky;
Wander, in starry worlds, and busy'd there,
From human cares , and human passions , fly.

VI.

Down to dark earth's deep center , could I roam,
And, thro' her chasmy lab'rinths , wind my way;
See Gold unripen'd, in its dusky home ,
And mark how springs , in veiny bendings , stray.

VII.

Oft as th' alarming trumpet struck my ear ,
Or the big drum's dead beat hoarse-thund'ring rose,
My summon'd soul sprung out, to war's wish'd sphere,
And plung'd me in the ranks of fancy'd foes .

VIII.

Wide, as unmeasur'd nature's trackless space,
Untir'd imagination restless flew;
Disdain'd to fix on object , or on place ,
And every moment, some fresh labour knew.

IX.

C — o was then , unseen, unread, unknown; —
Now, lovely tyrant, she usurps my mind;
Devoted fancy vows itself her own:
And my whole thought is, to one theme , confin'd.

X.

Yet, pow'rful as she is — she doubts her lays ;
Blind, like the sun , to her own blazing flame;
Transports the list'ning soul — engrosses praise,
Yet humbly wishes — an immortal name.

XI.

Oh! that I could but live , 'till that late day,
When C — 's unremember'd name shall die!
Then should I hope, full leisure to display
Those unborn deeds , which in my bosom lie.

XII.

But, as it is, our fleeting sands so fast
Ebb to their end , and lead us to decay ;
That, e're we learn to see , our daylight's past,
And, like a melting mist , life shrinks away.